


Override

by EmbersownGracie (GrayEmbers)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Nerdy AI Stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayEmbers/pseuds/EmbersownGracie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's impossible for Church to escape his software handicaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Override

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/10333) by Fantabulous12123. 



> I wrote this in response to Janelle's idea that Carolina could use command overrides on Epsilon which I posted as the inspiration for this work.

The first time it happens, it’s like a joke. 

Encouraged by her growing frustration, Epsilon can’t help heckling Carolina. “You’re just as shitty of a leader as I am. I mean, we both threatened our soldiers, but at least I never carried through with anything.”

She snarls, “Epsilon, log off.”

“And no one on my team’s died for years - how many Freelancers are left again?”

“Command override: log off.” Before Epsilon can respond, the world fades out around him. His momentary panic cuts short when he sees himself nestled between Tucker’s pin-up jpegs and half-finished e-mails.

“Are you fucking _serious_?” He rages, and then Epsilon proceeds to flip his shit inside Tucker’s strorage unit.

Only feelings got hurt that time.

Caboose tries to override him a few days later.

“For the last time,” Epsilon tells his estranged friend, “My name is Church. That’s Dickface Washington over there.”

Caboose attempts to gather his thoughts, but he fails and ends up saying, “Command over… thing… ride the command… uh… Epsilon, your name is Epsilon.” The two stare at each other.

Epsilon can only hope that the next time it happens is also the last time.

“I’m telling you, I don’t _remember_ ,” he stated. 

Frustrated, Carolina demanded, “Then search through your memories. I didn’t break you out of the base to hear you whine about how unfair your life is. You’re a memory unit, Epsilon.”

“Yeah, well, news flash,” Epsilon replied, “A memory of where the Director was a decade ago won’t help you now.”

“Command override: search your memories for the last known location of the Director.”

“Uh, Carolina,” Washington warned, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Memories of his own, well, memories resurfaced - times when a flash of Alpha’s torture would incapacitate him.

Even if she hadn’t blown off his advice, it was too late. Epsilon fell silent, and everyone stopped to watch the blue hologram as it looked back and forth.

At first, the AI fumed to himself as he weeded through his files. He didn’t know where the memories were stored, so he could only sift through his entire database in hopes of stumbling upon the right memory. _I’m gunna kill her_ , he promised himself bitterly.

Suddenly, the file he latched onto launched a memory: the Meta stabbing the capture unit through Tex’s visor and throwing her body aside. Epsilon’s stomach lurched. He closed the memory and moved on, but that stopped neither his pang of longing nor his stab of sympathy for her plight. 

His next few memories were innocuous: shaking sand out of his round body, Freelancers eating in a mess hall, Caboose explaining his adventures with Sheila in Blood Gulch. Then he found one. As the memory pulled up, Epsilon heard the voice of the Director echo, “Run the simulation again. This time, don’t let everyone die.” A world of color opened up before Alpha, and Epsilon watched as his predecessor sprinted into a firefight full of civilians.

Epsilon watched with growing horror as Alpha struggled to snipe at concealed enemies, but gunfire continued to pick off the women wandering the streets. Curtains of red blood stained the simulation floors. A sick curiosity settled over Epsilon; he couldn’t bring himself to close the memory. Perhaps a voice in the back of his head cautioned against this can of infected worms, but a part of him believed he could handle it.

Then he watched a women’s chest explode in front of him, and Epsilon recognized Allison.

They were all Allison.

His throat hitched, and suddenly Epsilon remembered the end of this scenario: everyone dead, Alpha bloody but on top of the foe, but when he unmasked her the culprit was also Allison. “I didn’t want you to have me,” she sneered. “You don’t deserve me.”

…

They waited silently as Epsilon’s projection twitched - the only evidence of the processing command. After a minute, the simulation troopers began chattering amongst themselves. But not Washington. He knew better than anyone what Epsilon might be going through. He wasn’t surprised when the hologram finally turned to Carolina, replied with a flat, “Last known location: Mother of Invention,” then disappeared into the recesses of Tucker’s storage unit.


End file.
